Chapter 3

THREE

So this is what it feels like, huh?

Mavrel’s horn-buds ached. His body felt strange—as if a low-voltage electric current were running through it.

Pain prickled behind his eyeballs. Weirdly, his entire scalp was sensitive, the roots of his hair tingling uncomfortably. He let out a puff of exasperation and pulled his long hair from its tie, slipping the band around his wrist.

“I’m fucking dying here, Zharek,” he groaned as he leaned back in the treatment chair. “What’s taking you so long?"

There was no answer from the dark chamber beyond the treatment room. Zharek had disappeared into there some time ago to retrieve the medication—the injection that was supposed to make all of this stop.

Well, he was taking his Kaiin-cursed time about it.

Had Zharek gotten sidetracked by something?

Mavrel knew from experience that this was the most likely explanation. The mercurial medic, inventor, scientist, and son of House al Sirian was controlled by his passions and interests. Perhaps his attention had been stolen by some test finding or anomaly.

Mavrel was about to get up and hunt Zharek down when the demon himself appeared, carrying a strange object.

The medic appeared half-wild as usual: barefoot, horns fully grown, white hair bound in a messy topknot, his kashkan untied and flapping around.

“Look at this.” He held out a shiny circular object that was about the size of Mavrel’s outstretched hand.

“What?” Irritated, Mavrel stared at the thing, trying to make sense of it. He took it into his hands. It was light, thin, and slightly organic-looking, shimmering under the soft lights of Zharek’s holoscreens. It looked to have been bisected, revealing a perfectly imperfect pattern inside. Mavrel recognized that pattern. “This was made by a living organism, wasn’t it?”

Zharek nodded, seeming pleased with himself. “What do you think it is?”

Mavrel tapped the edge with his fingernail, his discomfort momentarily replaced with curiosity. “Looks like a calcareous exoskeleton of some sort. Interesting that the pattern is a near-perfect logarithmic spiral.”

“Correct. Can you believe this was made by an ocean-dwelling creature? A primeval thing…”

Impressed, Mavrel’s eyebrows rose. “Well, it is from Earth. The biodiversity is insane.”

For a moment, both Mavrel and Zharek forgot about his imminent Mating Fever as they stared at the curio, a simple yet infinitely complex thing made by nature.

“Hmph.” Mavrel shook his head and snorted as the pain in his temples returned. “It’s all very interesting, but will you please give me the medicine already? I have work to do. I don’t have time for distractions . ”

Zharek chuckled, the sound grating on Mavrel’s nerves. “Have you ever considered that your impatience right now is not due to the fact that you have work to do? That, rather, it’s an effect of the Mating Fever itself?”

“I don’t care,” Mavrel growled. “I just want the suppressant.”

“Very well.” Zharek disappeared behind his consoles, carefully depositing the marvelous logarithmic spiral and retrieving an autoinjector vial of suppressant. He tossed it to Mavrel. “Inject this while I monitor you.”

Of course, there were sensors all around, keeping track of his vitals.

Mavrel caught the vial in his hand, pressed it against his thigh, and activated the release button. The needle shot through the thin fabric of his trousers, causing a tiny sting.

The vial ejected.

The suppressant entered his system.

Mavrel closed his eyes and waited for the drug to take effect.

Come on…

“ It’s completely and utterly pointless for you to try and fight it, you know,” Zharek said matter-of-factly. “Why don’t you just go and pursue your future mate already?”

“I’ll do so in my own time,” Mavrel muttered tersely. “Right now, I do not feel like getting drawn into some maddening song-and-dance over which I have little to no control.”

Still standing behind his consoles and monitors, Zharek regarded him with a curious stare. The soft blue light from the devices burnished the medic’s elegant features, making him appear strange—as if Mavrel barely knew him.

“Hm.” Zharek frowned. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

“Afraid?” Mavrel scoffed. “Don’t be stupid. I’m just prioritizing.”

The bases of his horn-buds were a little less tender now. The suppressant was starting to work.

Good.

“You really think you can control it where all the others have failed? Think about it. The First Division. The commanders. The indomitable general himself…”

Mavrel shook his head. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple as his irritability slowly faded. “They are all used to taking whatever they want—to winning without compromise. And… they’re methodical and cunning. It’s little surprise their females fell for them with almost no resistance.”

Zharek inclined his head. “Believe me, it isn’t as straightforward as you’re making it out to be. You’re worried she’ll resist?”

“I’m worried that, in spite of our biology, she will be incompatible. Insufferable. Completely unsuited to life with one such as I. What am I supposed to do then, hm? Just… force it… or die a painful death?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. You know that the Mating Fever goes both ways, don’t you? Your biological compatibility is genetically predetermined.”

“That isn’t a guarantee that we’ll get along. How am I supposed to elicit a female’s interest, let alone figure out how to keep her entertained and maintained, especially when it comes to the possibility of offspring?” Perhaps he would learn with time. Surely, there was a manual on this. Otherwise, he would have to try and catch the First Division guys and quiz them relentlessly.

He would only go into battle when he was prepared.

Maybe… in a few revolutions’ time.

“Although it seems far-fetched, I have reason to believe that personality is part of the equation,” Zharek said quietly. “That the Mating Fever itself is an elegant solution to the question of suitability. Think about it. Why haven’t there been any compatibility failures so far?”

“Because those males aren’t the sort to take no for an answer. And for some reason, they know how to lure these females and please them. And for some reason, human women appear to be drawn to certain… attributes.”

“Aha.” A devious glint entered Zharek’s eyes. “So you don’t believe that personality is genetically determined… or that it can change over time?”

“I don’t want to get into a complicated discussion with you right now, Zharek.” As much as Mavrel relished the opportunity to spar with Zharek, he didn’t like where this conversation was going. Besides, once he got going with Zharek, their debates could go on and on—to the point where they lost awareness of time.

“Then what’s to say that you wouldn’t find it easy to win her over? That you don’t possess all the attributes that she would look for in a mate?”

Mavrel glowered but kept silent. He wasn’t a warrior. He wasn’t the sort to seek conquest or to want to seize a prize at all costs. He wasn’t the guy doing stupid things like jumping into the blazing sun or hurling oneself into the endless void of space without oxygen in order to save the Universe.

His easygoing facade hid his obsessive nature. He liked to be able to predict what would happen far ahead of time. He preferred to be the silent observer, tweaking things from behind the scenes, making a small adjustment here or there, deriving immense satisfaction when his calculations paid off and caused a ripple in the Universe.

He didn’t like too much noise, either.

Beatrice Maina was beautiful, smart, and impressively confident, but…

What if she turned out to be incessantly talkative?

“So, I take it you’ll be attending the Cultural Event, then?” Zharek retrieved a small device and tossed it to Mavrel, causing his hand to reflexively shoot out and catch the damn thing.

“I have no plans to attend.”

“Hm.” The devious glint in Zharek’s eyes did not intensify. In fact, his scheming expression made Mavrel even more uneasy. “Well, take this, anyway.”

Mavrel looked at the device in his hand. About the size of the tip of his thumb, it was small and black—a capsule of some sort. “What is it?”

“Nanites. If you aren’t ready to experience the full effects of the Mating Fever, ingest them before you meet her again. They’ll act on your olfactory system, inhibiting the effects of the pheromone activation. The downside is that you won’t be able to smell much.”

Unnecessary, Mavrel thought. There was no need for him to dull his senses because he wouldn’t be attending this so-called Cultural Event, which was undoubtedly the brainchild of the human mates.

Humans, apparently, loved a party.

He couldn’t think of anything worse.

Nor would he be going out of his way to meet her.

Not until he was ready.